


nothing promised no regrets

by crookedsaint



Series: hatsune miku memorial dlerby boots [2]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate POV of the Fridays Party Skate Date, Chicago Firefighters, F/F, Fluff, Roller Dance, T for swears, actual roller skating this time, claw machine theft (poggers), emotional vulnerability (once again not poggers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedsaint/pseuds/crookedsaint
Summary: Rivers Rosa has skated before and she'll skate again, but dlerby and roller dance were two very, very different things. That must have been why Dreamy's invitation to the rink threw her so far off balance. That, and no other reason.No other reason at all.
Relationships: Background Tillman Henderson/Declan Suzanne, Sutton Dreamy/Rivers Rosa
Series: hatsune miku memorial dlerby boots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020012
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25
Collections: We Are Fanwork Creators





	nothing promised no regrets

**Author's Note:**

> the much-heralded part two arrives at last!
> 
> thanks to ferrets, zo, and the crabitat wrigen gang for putting up with this fic for the past [checks watch] two months??? and thanks so much to @tamsinb specifically for getting me on the dreamboat steamboat. choo choo!
> 
> title from voulez-vous by abba! suggested listening: any disco playlist you've got, honestly, but especially ballroom blitz by sweet.
> 
> hope you enjoy!

_ i’m really glad you came, you know the rules, you know the game _

_ master of the scene _

_ we’ve done it all before, and now we’re back to get some more _

_ you know what i mean _

__ __ __ __ __ __ _ -voulez vous, ABBA _

Rivers stared at her phone. Seven words.  _ You will be at the Fridays afterparty. _ No details, no directions, and definitely no clarification. Sighing, she slipped it back into her pocket and stepped reluctantly out the bathroom door.

“Ta-da,” she groaned. “Behold, Rivers Rosa in short pants.”

“Short pants?” Declan snickered. “Who calls them that anymore? Last I checked, Lou was the one from the seventeenth century.”

“Nineteenth,” the Lou Roseheart in question replied, scandalized. “Anyway, Riv, you look wonderful!”

“Don’t call me that. I look like a disco ball.” She smoothed her hands over the sequins on her—on  _ Lou’s _ jacket. “They definitely didn’t wear this in the seventies.”

“So?” Lou stepped forward, adjusting Rivers’ lapels. “I think all crop tops deserve a blazer to go with. It’s…” They stepped back. “Darling.”

“I’m not going for darling,” she growled. “I’m going for living through this night without embarrassing myself.”

“They’re not even shorts.” Declan stared into the mirror, shifting his weight into different poses. “They’re like, capris, at best.”

“Breeches,” corrected Lou.

“Breeches.” Rivers looked down at her legs. “My ass is on full display.”

“At least you’re not stuck in a matching orange jumpsuit with Lou.” Declan turned to face the two of them. “When do we leave, anyway?”

Lou checked their watch—they’d picked a chunky gold one for the occasion after a solid twenty minutes of decision. “Five minutes and we’ll be fashionably late. So we should leave now, if Declan’s driving.”

“Hey, I never agreed—”

Rivers growled. “ _ I  _ never agreed to let Suzanne drive.”

“What, were you planning to take your motorcycle?” Lou rolled their eyes. “I can say from experience, babe, that doesn’t impress the girls nearly as much as you think.”

“Plus you’d need to put your skates in the saddlebags,” said Declan. “One in each, maybe? But then the helmet…”

“I’m not wearing a helmet.”

Lou snorted. “Don’t come crying to me when you get a concussion, then!”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

-

The El Camino smelled like… Declan. Unfortunately. Rivers stared out the passenger window, mind wandering as far as it could get from Mountain Dew and bubblegum vape.  _ You will be at the Fridays afterparty.  _ But Lou had said they’d heard from Dreamy it was a date. So what did that mean, anyway? Was she supposed to stick with her all night? Was she, god forbid, supposed to  _ skate  _ with her all night? Was she supposed to play it cool (like usual, always cool, always collected, always aloof) or—

“Many thoughts head full, Rosa?”

“Shut the fuck up, Suzanne.” She sighed. “It’s none of your business what my head’s full of.”

Lou poked their head through the gap between seats, elbows on the console. “What’s Rivers’ head full of? Wrong answers only.”

“Excuses to bail on social interactions.”

“Good one, Dec! Ghosts.”

“Ghosts but sexy this time."

“Worms.”

“Incorrect uses for an axe.”

“Jokes you make and then regret for three days after the fact.”

“New ways to be rude to me specifically.”

“Murder.”

“A whole tetris game.”

“Lesbianism.”

“Too correct, game over.” Lou giggled. “For real, though, what’s going on up there?”

Maybe if Rivers glared hard enough at the radio, it would burst into flames and she wouldn’t have to hear another note of Declan’s godawful music taste. How many plays of The Hustle could one cassette tape contain?

“Earth to Rosa?” And  _ whoa,  _ Declan’s hand was  _ way  _ too close to her face. He was basically asking for it when she pinned his wrist to the dash.

“What the fuck!” Lou looked between them.

“What the fuck in _ deed. _ ”

“Rosa, I need to drive.”

“And I need you both to mind your own business tonight. Under threat of death. By axe.”

“Hey, I was right.”

Lou gasped. “ _ Declan that was a red light. _ ”

“Shit.”

Rivers let go of his hand. “Whatever. You need lives for me to threaten later.”

“Aw, she really does care!”

“Fuckin’ cringe of you, Rosa.”

“What did I say about shutting up, Suzanne?”

-

A devastatingly embarrassing five minutes later, they’d arrived. The Aloha Roller Rink out-neoned any of the other buildings in the tiny Chicago strip mall it belonged to, including an actual lighting store. It didn’t necessarily loom, but Rivers felt its presence a  _ little  _ too strongly.

She tapped her fingers on the console. “Feeling like parking any time soon, Suzanne?”

“What, you eager to go out on your  _ date? _ ”

“No.”

He blinked. “Why am I even here, then?”

“Moral support?” suggested Lou. “Or perhaps because you have a car and I don’t.”

“I don’t remember asking you to come.”

Declan pulled the Camino into a parking spot, blessedly only a few doors down from the rink. “Really? ‘Cause I remember that  _ incredibly  _ vividly.”

“It doesn’t matter! We’re here!” Lou unbuckled themself, and then reached over to unbuckle Rivers. “Get your skate bag and get a move on. We’ll just be regular late if we wait a moment longer.”

“My what?” Rivers obliged, though, getting out of the car and waiting for Declan to pop the trunk. “You didn’t tell me to bring a bag. I just have my skates.”

Lou paused. “You don’t have any pads or anything?”

“I’m not a fucking coward.”

Declan  _ finally  _ came around and unlocked the trunk, leaving Rivers the opportunity to not make any eye contact with Lou from then on. “I hope you know I’m only going to stand around and look pretty,” he said.

“Only thing you’re good for.” Rivers tugged on her skates, tightening the laces within an inch of their lives. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Not ready yet!” Lou frantically tightened their wristguards. “Don’t  _ hurry  _ a lady.”

“I’m not hurrying a lady, I’m hurrying you.”

“I can be a lady when I want.”

Declan scowled. “Is anyone even going to help me figure out which of these are supposed to go on which leg?” He held up a pair of… kneepads, probably? Who cares. Pads are still for nerds.

“You take care of him, Lou. I’m going.”

“But Riv, our entrance!” She’d already started skating for the entrance. “Riv! I had plans!”

She knew Lou had plans. She also hated Lou’s plans, because Lou wanted them to skate onto the rink as soon as they got in, bypassing all the refreshments and arcade games just to shame the good name of Chicago as soon as possible. Instead, Rivers was going to head in, pay, and plant herself firmly at a booth at the Dlomino’s kiosk. 

Head in.

Pay.

Plant herself firmly—

But Dreamy was  _ right there.  _ Well, not at Dlomino’s. Rivers hadn’t even made it that far. Dreamy was…

So, Rivers wasn’t an idiot. She’d seen roller dance before. She’d  _ been  _ to roller discos before, which were by far rowdier than any 70’s night at a kids’ roller rink. But whatever Dreamy was doing was next  _ fucking  _ level. The song was faster than anything Rivers had ever skated to, and Dreamy was hitting every goddamn beat. Didn’t help that she was in her trademark mesh, plus a pair of bell-bottoms that did  _ very  _ nice things for her legs. Aside from that—well, she wasn’t indecent. She had a bra on. But, no, scratch that, it  _ became  _ indecent when you saw the flawless fucking footwork. Her balance—her  _ core strength,  _ by extension—and lavender suede is a  _ great  _ vibe for a dance boot—

But she needed to snap out of it before Dreamy noticed. I mean, sure, everyone there was probably staring. But it was different for Rivers. A little too much staring could spell death by Fridays.

On the other hand, it’s not like Rivers ever danced at those discos. She was mainly there to… well, at severe risk of sounding too much like Declan, stand around. Look sexy. Sign autographs. Get laid. She was a simple woman! And this simple woman could pick up a few tricks watching Sutton Dreamy skate. And, hell, maybe pick up another few things, too.

Too much. Too much. The music had cooled off to some Feetwood Mlac tune, some petty tactic to get everyone off the rink around dinner hour. Rivers had been staring for a whole song, and that was untenable.

What was  _ really  _ untenable was how Dreamy just kept dancing, kept skating, kept—

“Rivers?” Goddamnit, Lou.

“Goddamnit, Lou! What now?”

They fluttered their eyelashes. “Oh, nothing. Just checking up on you. I walked Dec in with his stuff, he’s hopeless. Those skates have never even been laced onto a human person. Our entrance never would have worked, and now our shoes are outside, which means I won’t even be able to kick ass in the arcade later! They have rules, or something.”

“And?” Rivers breathed deeply, resisting the urge to cause a scene. “None of that explains you interrupting…”

Lou inclined their head slightly, eyes widening. “Interrupting you sitting alone at a Dlomino’s booth when you should be skating with your beau?”

“There are… incredible amounts of incorrect assumptions in that sentence.”

They glanced at the rink, then back at Rivers. “Regardless, you should—”

“Ah, the Twin Roses!” Evelton McBlase—of  _ all  _ people—slapped Rivers on the back. “Fancy seeing you two hoodlums around these parts!”

“McBlase.”

“Evelton!”

Rivers shot them a glance that said  _ You’re on first name basis?,  _ but Lou didn’t dignify it with a response. “What are you doing here, McBlase? Vibes get too sweaty out there?”

“Ah, no!” It threw its hands in the air, sequined opera gloves glittering in the multicolored light. “We were hungry as all get out, was all. Skating wears out the vibes, see?”

“See,” Rivers confirmed.

“Anyway, only dear Dreamy out there abstained. We didn’t want to interrupt—”

“Her vibes?”

“Exactly, Rosa! We’ll make a Friday of you yet.”

Rivers ran a hand over her hair. “Please don’t. This is already more than I can stomach. Lou, Declan’s your responsibility. I’m gonna go skate.”

“Oh!” Lou lifted an eyebrow. “Fickle woman.”

“That’s me.”

-

Rivers knew how to skate. She was sure she did, because she had roller skated before. Multiple times. Successfully.

She still felt like a baby bird side-stepping over the small ridge in the floor—meant, of course, to stop people from being reckless, skating out into the concession area. Rivers could  _ really  _ use reckless right now. Maybe even brash? Bold? She’d take overzealous at this point, even. Instead, her knees were quivering like she was fresh meat at her first dlerby practice. She took a deep breath, and waved.

“Rosa!” Dreamy froze, arms still in the air, to look at her.

“Dreamy!” She pushed off, hoping to whatever gods were pointing and laughing right now that she wouldn’t fall.

“You came after all!”

That threw Rivers off-balance—figuratively. “I, uh. I mean, I got your text. You were very persuasive.”

“I got yours, too.” Dreamy finally dropped her arms as Rivers rolled to a stop in front of her. Her tone was dry as she continued: “I’m glad that Putting My Best Foot Forward and Being Confident And Direct worked to resolve our negative vibes.”

“Our what?” Rivers stared.

Dreamy’s expression softened, her formerly-arched eyebrow descending. “I was under the impression that our vibes were, and here I quote my newest teammates, ‘rancid.’”

Fuckin’ Fridays. “They just don’t get east coasters, Dreamy. We’re square, I promise.”

“You called me a rat bastard and spat on my shoes last time we played.”

“Did I? It’s how we show love in Chicago. Come on, let’s skate.” Rivers reached out for Dreamy’s hand. Then, because she’s not a  _ complete  _ fool, she dropped it before Dreamy could sink them both.

Dreamy spun and followed her around the track. “I am relieved to hear that it was a loving gesture.”

“I mean,” Rivers said, wincing at her own form. Should have practiced before this. Years of not skating catch up quick. “Not all the time. Sometimes I do hate the other team’s guts. But it’s definitely a sign of respect.”

“You respect my skill at blaseball.” It was almost a question. Dreamy tipped one toe up, sinking down to skate on six wheels and god,  _ really  _ showing off her quads. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” 

“You still hate blaseball, though?” And she rose back up  _ with  _ the outstretched leg in hand and what Rivers wouldn’t give to—well, to be able to skate on one foot, for one.

“I don’t—I mean, blaseball is terrible. It’s a splort for people with no sense of self-preservation and a love of sitting around doing fuck-all for half a game. It’s for idiots and people with too much time on their hands to stand around outside pretending to be good at something because they have no other identity. The whole thing was invented to spite me personally, I swear to god.” She paused. “Not to say you’re like that—”

Dreamy set her leg down. “I am not a pitcher.” 

“No, you’re not. Uh, I mean. Whatever you get out of it.” Rivers swallowed, hard. “I really don’t want to talk about blaseball.”

“Then we will not talk about blaseball.”

Dreamy seemed comfortable in the intervening silence, almost tranquil. Her crossovers were perfect, her footwork never missing a single beat. She even started tapping her toestops between weight changes, something Rivers didn’t even want to think about trying. And god, everything from the waist up was absolutely criminal—and Rivers wasn’t known for following the letter of the law. 

And there Rivers was, skating on-beat but stiff as  _ hell  _ to what should be the most danceable tune in the world. Judging by the bassline, it probably had the word boogie in the name.

“Dreamy?”

“Yes?” She looked up at Rivers from a  _ compromising _ —focus, Rosa.

She took a deep breath. “Dance with me?”   
Dreamy didn’t say a word, only grabbed Rivers’ wrists and whirled her around so she was skating backwards—thank god she’d practiced her transitions to death back in the day—half-pushing her forward along the rink. Rivers had almost hoped to be leading—keep it simple, keep it slow—but this was something else. It was like Dreamy was a force of nature, swinging her every which way with no choice in the matter. It was wonderful, because Dreamy’s hands pressed ever-tighter into her wrists—and terrible, because if there was anything Rivers hated, it was being given no choice in the matter. She steeled herself as best she could, keeping her center over her skates, holding her arms steady, stiff even now—

She fell on her ass.

It’s not like she wasn’t expecting it, but it hurt anyway. Both her ass and her ego.

“Rosa! Rosa, are you all right?” And, wow, Dreamy’s hands were all over her now, weren’t they? “I apologize for overestimating your skill.”

“...Ouch.”

Dreamy’s expression descended even further into panic. “Are you injured?”

“No, the critique just hurts. I think I fucked up my wrist, but I’ll be fine” She forced herself back into a squat and stood. “Probably shouldn’t try dancing again.”   
“Should I…?” Dreamy offered an elbow.

“No. Please.” Rivers sighed, dusting off Lou’s breeches. “Let’s just get off the rink?”

“Let’s.”

-

“I’ll fetch you a soda. From the vending machine.”

“No, seriously, it’s fine. It’s not even swollen, see?” Rivers reached across the table, showing off her freshly bruised wrist. “I know a sprain when I get it, and this ain’t one.”

Dreamy fiddled with her bra strap. “I am trying to make amends.”

“You can stop doing that, you know.”

“What?”

Rivers kicked her chair back, straining the plastic legs for all they’re worth. “Apologizing. You’re making this sound like a pity-date.”

She blinked several times, then stared straight at Rivers. “This is a date.”

" Yeah?” Oh, no. “Unless I misinterpreted? I mean, Lou told me—”

Dreamy slammed her fist on the table, rattling their fry baskets. “I will kill Lou Roseheart and every last Hawai’i Friday.”

“Oh yeah? Good luck, I’ve tried to kill Lou before. Doesn’t stick.”

“I made comments in confidence. That I did not wish to be shared.”

“Good fucking luck with that one on the Fridays.” Rivers let her chair fall forward again, leaning her elbows on the table. “I know which Crabs have dated which exclusively because Lou gets along with the Fridays and they all know Mrs. Silk who knows Nagomi.” She grabbed a handful of fries. Except— “Knew Nagomi? Are they still a thing?”

“You are deflecting to make me more comfortable.”

“Is it working?” Rivers looked up at her. 

“No. I am very uncomfortable and I do not know how to continue this conversation.”

“Okay, well, how about this: ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the truth.” She stuffed the fries in her mouth. “Try me.”

“Is that Tillman Henderson?”

“Holy shit,  _ is _ that Tillman Henderson?” Rivers looked over her shoulder and, well. “Why is he with Suzanne? I thought Henderson broke his heart.”

Dreamy rolled her eyes. “I have heard tell of that. On the radio. Several times an hour.”

Henderson collapsed next to Declan at one of the picnic benches. “Oh my god, are we witnessing Declan Suzanne actually confronting his feelings like a mature adult?” 

“It appears they are arguing about Sonic.”

“...You know what, I don’t know what I expected.” Rivers turned back to Dreamy. “The two of them are incorrigible. I once woke up to Tillman climbing through my window because, and I quote, he ‘wasn’t sure which one was Declan’s.’ He was holding a very. Damp. Xbox.”

Dreamy giggled. Rivers’ heart skipped a beat. “Your teammate has been found in our shared kitchen. Baking dozens of cupcakes. At  _ unmentionable _ hours.” She propped her chin up on her hands. “And for Tillman Henderson, of all people!”

“I didn’t think I could be more disgusted with him than I already was.” 

“I was once awoken from a beautiful dream by the sound of him burning his hand on the stove.”

“Why was the stove even  _ on?”  _ Rivers was already shaking with laughter. “How stupid do you have to be—god, fuck, gimme a minute.”

“This remains a mystery.” Dreamy was grinning, her cheeks catching the bright pink light of the rink.

“If I die, it’s gonna be one of those two. I don’t know how, or why I know, but he’s going to be the one. Motherfuckers are everything about blaseball I hate.”

Dreamy plucked a fry from between them, contemplating it. “So there are other parts of blaseball that you don’t?”

“I mean, I have played pro for, what, ten years? More?” She snorted. “There’s always bright spots.”

Dreamy swallowed, sighing, and they should  _ bottle  _ Sutton Dreamy’s sighs. “Rivers Rosa, you promised me a truthful answer.”

“Sure did. Hit me.”

“Are you interested in continuing this evening as an exploration of the romantic feelings that may or may not exist between the two of us?”

“Whoa, uh. Direct.”

"I am very practiced at self-expression. It is  _ much  _ easier than negotiating miscommunication.”

Don’t screw this up, Rivers. “I can… see that.” Fuck. Shit. No, the question. “I am very interested.” Better. “ _ Very. _ ” Worse.

Dreamy’s face was inches from hers. She quirked an eyebrow. “Very?”

“Very.” Rivers swallowed. The subtext of the conversation was becoming text far more quickly than usual.

“You find me attractive?”

“I have  _ eyes,  _ Dreamy,” and, no, that was not the right thing to stay, because Dreamy leaned back into her chair and  _ sighed _ again like that and, no that wouldn’t do at all.

“Rivers Rosa,” she began again, and maybe Rivers should have asked but  _ fuck it. _ She stood, her chair clattering behind her, grabbed Dreamy by the chin, and kissed her.

For a heart-stopping moment, she was certain she’d made the wrong choice. Dreamy stiffened a little, a sharp contrast to her usual smooth bearing. But just before Rivers could break away, could apologize and skate home and never show her face in Chicago again, Dreamy buried her hand in River’s hair and kissed her back.

And god, did she  _ kiss her back _ . Dreamy kissed like she may never kiss again, like this was her last chance to feel her lips against Rivers’ and she’d miss it dearly when it went. Her other hand caught Rivers by the waist, pulling her down onto Dreamy’s lap, her studded belt digging into Rivers’ thigh.

It was at that point that it occurred to Rivers that she should probably be embarrassed.

Dreamy broke away, breath hot on Rivers’ cheek. “We should—”

“—take this outside?” Rivers stood, brushing herself off. “Yeah. Uh, yeah, definitely.”

Someone wolf-whistled. Rivers whirled around, hand reaching for her left hip, grasping at air. No belt. Unfortunately, no axe, either.

Evelton waved at them. “Having fun, Dreamy?”

Rivers glanced down in time to see Dreamy return the wave, a stupid grin on her face. “Oh, plenty.”

It raised a glass by way of response, theatrically averting its eyes. “Be safe! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Can we, uh.” Rivers offered a hand to Dreamy, looking away.

“Of course.” She took it, squeezing it as she stood. “Wouldn’t want to waste another moment.”

-

The alley out back of a shitty suburban skate rink was, surprisingly, not the sleaziest place Rivers had ever pinned a girl against a wall. Not her finest moment, she’d readily admit, but not her low point either. She’d pretend to regret it somewhere down the road. It was both much too early and much too late for that. One of her hands was already laced in Dreamy’s hair, the half-smoky strands cool to the touch. The other pressed her hip into the painted concrete, tangling itself in the mesh of Dreamy’s shirt. Her mouth, well. 

“If you were at  _ all  _ unsure,” Dreamy gasped, “About the nature of our relationship.” She tightened her grip on Rivers’ side. “You are  _ not _ acting like it.”

She paused for a moment to exhale sharply on Dreamy’s neck, taking no small amount of joy at the shiver that it prompted. “You made your intentions pretty clear, I think.” 

Dreamy tipped her chin up with one finger. “Could I make them clearer?”

Rivers nodded, the movement slow. Dazed. “Should I be worr—”

But then Dreamy’s lips were on hers again, and she didn’t know why she’d ever let them leave her. Dreamy pushed herself off the wall, sending Rivers a few steps back. Something in her chest stuttered before roaring to life, blazing hot and  _ new.  _ Unsettling, almost. Rivers pushed back, putting everything she had into the kiss. She tugged on Dreamy’s hair and ran her hand up the mesh of Dreamy’s shirt. That shiver again—and Dreamy, grabbing Rivers’ wrist, guiding it to rest on her—it was overwhelming, it was incomprehensible, it was—

“I’m sorry!”

Dreamy stared at her, face flushed. “What for?”

“I shouldn’t—this is our first date.” Rivers dug her hands into the pockets of her breeches, willing the pressure to weigh down the floaty feeling in her head. She was stripped down. Vulnerable. She was barefoot—her skates were inside, her boots back in the Camino. Suddenly, that was incredibly embarrassing in a way it hadn’t been before. “This is a first date where I wasn’t even sure it was a date, at first, and I don’t want to—you’ve been great about this, obviously, but we might be moving—”

“Oh, is that all?” Some tension leaves Dreamy’s shoulders. “I can come here with you some other time.” A bit of the same sarcasm from earlier crept into her voice. “Would you like me to win you a stuffed animal prize before taking things any further?”

Rivers bit back a snarky response. She wished she could tell Dreamy that that wasn’t it at all, that she wanted  _ whatever this was  _ more than anything, that Dreamy being so respectful, so  _ simple,  _ made her want it even more. That there was just some awful little part of her telling her this was too much too soon, that Rivers would only have to break her heart later, that she wouldn’t want to see Dreamy walk away now—so why let it get to the point where she’d have to see it a hundred times? Where she’d have to see it one  _ last  _ time?

“Rivers?” Dreamy laid a feather-light hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to go home? I can take you—”

“No,” she said, and it was too frantic. Too desperate. “No, I—the arcade sounds great. I know how to hack a claw machine.” Why did she say that?

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Dreamy lit up brighter than her glowstick necklace. “We can build the most powerful arcade toy empire the world has ever seen!”

“You sound a little too excited about that.”

“I am  _ very _ fond of small trinkets.” She took Rivers’ hand, pulling her back towards the door. “I collect found objects and add them to my dashboard legion whenever I return to Baltimore.”

“Your  _ what?”  _ As Rivers pushed the door open, she was hit once more with the wall of scent and sound that was the rink. Some terrible, schmoopy funk tune was blasting over the speakers. You could cut the smell of corn dogs with a knife.

“Should I find myself in need of protection from supernatural forces, I have a sizeable collection on my car dashboard of crystals, glyphs, sigils, rubber ducks, gachapon prizes…”

The list went on, fading into a pleasant background buzz as they made their way to the arcade machines. Rivers singled out a wimpy-looking claw game from the pack. “Here, Dreamy, watch this.” 

After a brief check that none of the bored teenage employees were watching, she leaned down, multitool already in hand. “The locks on these things are always an utter joke.” She popped out a flathead screwdriver, slipping it into the lock and bracing it. The way it folded out kept it perpendicular to the tool’s grip. It was the perfect improvised tension wrench, and it meant her picks fit in a much more discreet pouch. Her hand went to her belt, and— “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Lou sent me here in these stupid fucking pants, and now I don’t have my lockpicks on me.”

“You carry lockpicks?” Rivers couldn’t see her—if she couldn’t pick this lock, maybe she could just melt it with a glare—but she could hear Dreamy smile.

“I’m a trained locksmith. Never leave home without ‘em, these days, ‘cause once someone finds out you can open their locks they assume you can  _ always  _ open their locks.”

“Does this have anything to do with the time—”

“That we found Henderson and Suzanne in the toolshed? Yeah. It has everything to do with that.” She sighed, sliding the screwdriver out of the lock. “And Lou told me the multitool was overkill.” 

Dreamy giggled. “Oh, well. Do you want to play Dance Dance Re—”

“Didn’t want it to be like this, but, in my defense, it’s Lou’s fault.” Rivers punched the acrylic pane, snapping it out of its aluminum frame and leaving the toys inside free for the taking. 

“Rivers! Did you just—”

“Hey! Security!”

“Grab what you want and run.” Rivers grinned, snagged a purple sheep the size of a blasketball, and bolted.

-

“I do  _ not _ think that counts as ‘hacking’ a claw machine.” Dreamy was panting by the time they made it to the curb, her arms filled to the brim with stuffed animals.

“Still—” Rivers paused, choking down a cough. “I got the goods, didn’t I?”

“ _ We _ got the goods.” Dreamy grinned (and, oh, what a grin) at her colorful bounty. Rivers could make out ducks, lizards, at least one frog, and more cats than a jazz club in New York. Rivers set her sheep on top of the pile. “We make a good team, Rivers Rosa.”

Her face… did something outside of her control. She quickly retracted her hands. “I appreciate you saying that.”

“We should do this more often.” Dreamy smiled, her voice taking on the tones of someone recounting some noble life and death of someone important. “Between your skills and my passion, we could be a team of arcade thieves known the world over. Our elaborate heists would be written for the ages, set on the same shelves as the likes of Bonnie and Clyde, Butch Cassidy and his Wild Bu—”

“Fuck, that reminds me.”

Dreamy dropped her dramatic affect, goofy smile falling away. Rivers wished she could put it back. “What?”

“We left our skates inside. And I think I saw some folks from Charleston in there—shit, Dream, I’m sorry. Those looked expensive.”

Her expression softened, and Rivers really wished there wasn’t some stupid direct line from Dreamy’s face to Rivers’ brain that made everything short out the moment it did—well, anything. “Money isn’t an object. I can buy new skates. But you don’t want to go back in?”

Rivers scoffed. “I don’t want to get arrested.”

“We’re blaseball players.”

“Principle of the thing.”

“You are not a fan of the legal immunity granted by a bloodsplort? It’s not as if arcade theft is punishable by death.”

“Something like that, yeah.” Rivers set off down the street, ignoring the chill of the night air and the concrete alike. 

“Um?” Dreamy called after her. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, just reminded me of something. Someplace, I guess.”

“Are you going—”

“Yeah. Follow me.”

Dreamy had already caught up, falling easily into stride. Her hands were empty, the stuffed animals presumably abandoned for security to find later. “Really, is something wrong? I can—”

Rivers scoffed. “We’re blaseball players. Of course there’s something wrong, Dreamy. There always is.”

“I am not very good with ‘of course’ situations—”

“Sorry, yeah. Right.” She kept her eyes fixed on the blurry city lights, not paying attention to anything closer than the next storefront. “You just keep bringing that up. The blaseball thing. You know it bugs me. So you’re trying to dig for dirt, right? Get me to spill my tragic backstory?”

There was a brief silence, and for a second, she’d blown it. This was a step too far. It wasn’t charmingly mysterious, it was just her shutting herself off from another—

“If you don’t want to, we can stop. I saw an ice cream shop—”

“I  _ want  _ you to stop alternating between asking me personal questions and distracting me with cute date ideas.”

“You think it’s cute.”

“I think you’re cute, but that’s beside the point.” Rivers stopped, having reached her destination. “You want to know why I hate blaseball? Take a look.”

It was the window of a cheapo, awful bar. Classic Chicago quasi-suburban dive, with a little too much edge to be this close to all these nice date spots but not enough dignity to relocate deeper into the city. The kind of window that was perpetually fogged up, from what little you could see of it. Most of it was covered, as is every disreputable bar window, with old flyers and promotions, shouting out discounts expired two years ago. In it, barely visible under a few more recent ones, hung a poster.

“This is… you.”

“Yeah.”

“During the Dodecaheader.”

“Yep.”

“You do not look particularly happy.”

“Don’t get smarmy. You see what I mean?”

“I could not say.”

“It’s me and Lou.” Rivers turned around, leaning back on the bar. She didn’t need to look at it to describe her problem with it, and all it was doing was making her huffier, anyway. “They posed it like we’re WWLE stars, or something. Like we hate each other, but we tolerate each other’s company so we can take down the big bad evil Crabs.”

“I don’t appreciate that either,” said Dreamy, clearly choosing her words with care.

“You don’t have to talk around it, Dreamy. It fucking sucks.” She slammed a fist on the glass, rattling the whole entryway. “They make up these narratives for us and just expect us to roll with them. I can’t have a normal ex-lovers-awkward-friendship with my buddy Lou, cause they’re Lou Roseheart, unlikely-hero-turned-darling-of-Chicago.”

“And you, their partner.”

“Yeah.” Rivers sighed. “I can’t even get away from it for a while. Process the breakup from Season fucking Two, ‘cause every time we’re in public it’s like everyone shoves us next to each other. Twin Roses, right? And that’s not even mentioning the shit they put Declan and the others through.”

Dreamy’s shoulder brushed against hers. While Rivers had been busy looking away, she’d come and leaned up against the window, too. The contact wasn’t unwelcome. “Declan?”

“Two words. Redemption. Arc.”

“Ah.” And with that syllable, Rivers heard something in Dreamy snap. “Redemption, because we have committed the mortal sin of being people in a game designed to create idols.”

“That resonate for you, huh?”

Dreamy continued as if she hadn’t heard her. “Redemption, because there was something so awful about how we acted before. I am sure it would be different if we had the space to learn and grow from our mistakes. To apologize. But we are not  _ given  _ that, now are we?”

“You’re telling m—”

“Is it terrible to want to play a villain when even the heroes have to  _ kill  _ to stay alive?”

The look on Dreamy’s face was one Rivers had never seen. Had never thought about seeing, not on the pretty girl from the Tlopps card with the pink-purple hair and the boldly clashing maroon jersey. This wasn’t that picture.

“I hadn’t really thought about that. You’re not exactly the most, uh. Committed to the bit. Of all the Crabs.”

Dreamy leaned a little harder into her shoulder. “It is not about me. It  _ is  _ about my team.”

“They’re still your team?”

“I didn’t—”

“No, it’s all right. I get it.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t.”

The street before them was quiet. Empty. Rivers wished a car would pass by, or that someone across the way in the restaurant would cause a scene. She didn’t want to be the most interesting part of the landscape. Hell, she barely wanted to be here at all. Why had she bothered bringing Dreamy to see some shitty poster she’d gotten mad at on a walk once? What if it hadn’t been there? What if they’d taken it down like responsible business owners? Why was she so—

“This is the part where I kiss you?”

Rivers looked over. Dreamy was already staring at her. “That’s how it usually goes, yeah.”

“Is that how you want it to go?”

“I don’t know.” Rivers laced her hand in Dreamy’s. “What about you?”

“I think—” She fell silent for a moment, and that moment struck Rivers through the heart like a knife. She didn’t—it wasn’t really— “That this is a role I would  _ like _ to play.”

“You sure?”

“If I change my mind,” Dreamy said, the sound of a smile creeping into her voice, “No one is watching.”

“I’m watching.”

“You have been watching me all night.”

Rivers grinned. “Got me dead to rights.” She lifted up their hands, pressing a kiss to the back of Dreamy’s. “Couldn’t very well look away, with you dancing like that.”

“Almost like a car crash.”

“Almost like.”   
  


-

Rivers opened her locker, the cool metal already soothing the callouses on her hand. She dug through the clothes and miscellany piled inside for her phone.

_ I will be at the Firehouse tonight. _

__ She let herself smile at the message.  _ am I allowed to ask lou about this one? _

__ _ Under no circumstances. _

__ _ how are you gonna stop me? _

__ _ There are always more Fridays afterparties. _

__ “Who are you texting, Rosa?”

“None of your fucking business, Alvarado.”  _ that a threat? _

“You got a girlfriend or something?”

Declan snickered somewhere behind her. “Finally.”

_ It is a threat.  _ A moment, and then:  _ Or a promise. Depends. I might change my mind. _

__ _ fickle woman. _

__ _ I’ve heard you called the same. _

__ _ Oh, by the way, I thought this might help pay any damages for the scene I caused last night. _

__ _ [image] _

__ “Oh my god, Riv, is that—”

“Don’t even try it, Lou.” She slammed her locker shut. “So, Suzanne, how was the hot date with Henderson? Thought you were serious about not being seen with him in public. Something about not disappointing those nonexistent fans of yours, right?”

“How did you know about that?”

Rivers turned around, photographic evidence proudly displayed.

“Oh, you  _ bi _ —”

**Author's Note:**

> blaseball players be like i know a place and then make out with you in front of god and everyone on the front step of a shitty dive bar
> 
> thanks for reading!


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